The Harold Palmer Affair
by PsandQs
Summary: Written shortly after season 9 aired, and featuring the team as we knew it in 9.8. A bit of Harry/Ruth fun to atone for the dark subject matter of the previous story. There is a plot if you look really hard, but it's just an excuse to have some fun with them. Harry and Ruth must go undercover together; will this bring them closer together or drive them further apart?
1. Meet Mr Harold Palmer

**Meet Mr Harold Palmer**

Harry got back from his meeting with the Home Secretary looking hot and annoyed.  
"Meeting room!" he barked across the Grid, glowering at no-one in particular.  
His tone of voice brooked no opposition and they all filed into the room briskly. By the time they sat down Harry had removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.  
"I know that we're rather busy with that new AQ cell we've identified, but the Home Secretary wishes us to pay attention to another matter as well. Apparently the Russians are sniffing around our biggest defence contractor, UK Defence Electronics."  
Ruth frowned. "Isn't that company busy improving all the electronics on our guided missiles?"  
Harry nodded. "And on most of our fighter planes. Apparently this man," he handed a photo over to be distributed, "Sergei Fedorov, has been tasked by the Russians to steal this new technology. Yes, Ruth," he said wearily, noticing that she was bursting to say something.

"Fedorov is rumoured to have links to the Russian mafia. He's been used as a type of deniable fixer by the Russian government in the past. He owns one of the swanky hotels here in London, incidentally."  
"Right," Harry agreed. "So, Alec, find me a way to get to Mr Fedorov and protect our military technology secrets."  
The Section Chief barely had time to nod before Harry was out of the room and into his office, closing his door behind him.

Beth and Dimitri glanced at each other. Things had been tense on the Grid since the conclusion of the Inquiry into Harry. It seemed as though Harry and Ruth did not quite know how to act around each other after everything that had happened. When work did not dictate that they had to speak to each other, Harry seemed to avoid being in Ruth's presence as much as possible. Ruth, on the other hand, hadn't made any attempt to clear the air, and contented herself to looking after him sadly each time he walked away from her.

- 0 -

_Two days later_

"So," Harry said as he sat down, "I understand you have a proposal to solve the Russian problem."  
"Yeah," Alec responded. "Fedorov's MO is to identify a senior man in the company he's interested in, find a weak spot and exploit that to get the information he wants. So we propose to hand him such a person on a plate. We plant someone in the company that would meet his criteria, and then use that person to feed him false information."  
Harry nodded slowly, idly wondering why none of the other team members would look him in the eye.  
"That could work. Do we have a candidate that we can feed him?"  
"We do," Alec said and hit the remote. "Harold Palmer."  
Silence descended as Harry stared at his own face on the screen.

He looked around the table, but none of his officers dared meet his eye. Ruth, in particular, looked anywhere but at him, and he couldn't understand why she seemed so excessively uncomfortable about this.  
"If this is an attempt at humour, it has missed the mark by some distance," he finally offered.  
"Sorry. It's not. There's no-one else available, Harry. Dimitri, Beth and I are tied up with the AQ cell."  
Harry regarded 'Harold Palmer' mournfully. "Fine. I expect that next you're going to tell me I'll have to spend a lot of time in casinos from now on."  
"Actually, no," Alec replied. "That will take too long. We've decided to give Harold a more immediate weakness."  
Ruth seemed to sink even deeper into her chair and fiddled with the paper in front of her.  
Alec grinned at Harry. "It seems our Mr Palmer is having a torrid affair with his PA," he paused dramatically before hitting the remote again with a flourish, "Ruth _Emmerson_."

Beth wished that she had a camera to capture the expression on Harry's face for posterity. Shocked. Stunned. Incredulous. _Flummoxed_, she decided in the end. Ruth, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to flee and was not making eye contact with anyone.  
"With _Ruth_?" Harry managed to squeak after an eternity. He dared a darting look in her direction before looking away again hurriedly.  
His Section Chief was clearly enjoying the boss' discomfort. "Yes. You're going to a Defence Contractor conference tomorrow, and Fedorov will be there. We know that he has a special room in his hotel, which he has bugged, that he offers to people such as Harold. So you need to convince him to invite you to use it for a, erm, liaison with your PA."

Once again a long silence ensued as Harry tried to process the developments. Suddenly he blanched.  
"But… If the hotel room is bugged, he'll expect us to…" He petered out feebly.  
Alec tried to look innocent. "He'll expect you to what?"  
Harry gathered himself and glared at his Section Chief. "To have carnal relations, Mr White. Don't pretend to be obtuse."  
By this time Dimitri and Beth were having a hard time squashing their laughter.  
Taking pity on his boss, Alec relented. "There are ways around that. The room is only wired for sound, so we will make a soundtrack that will make him think you are doing the dirty. All you must do is convince him at the conference that you're lusting after Ruth and is in serious danger of pinning her to the table in front of everyone if you can't get her alone in a room soon."  
"Yeah, Harry," Dimitri piped up, "and that shouldn't be a problem for you."

All eyes turned to him incredulously. Harry's expression darkened dangerously and Dimitri realised that he had well and truly put his foot in it.  
"Er, because we all know what a consummate field officer you were," he added hastily.  
Harry's glare remained squarely on Dimitri when he spoke.  
"Get out, all of you. I need to speak to Ruth in private."  
Despite the ominous note in Harry's voice, Tariq lingered and looked between the two. "You'll both need to come to the recording suite and lay some groundwork for the soundtrack; you know, like saying each other's names in an appropriate manner-"  
"GET OUT!" Harry shouted as his face turned an alarming shade of red. He was well beyond angry and firmly on the road to rage.  
They could hear the others collapsing with laughter before Harry slammed the door shut behind the hastily departing Tariq.

Ruth wisely kept her own counsel as Harry paced furiously. Twice he turned to her as if about to speak, but both times he failed to get any words out and went back to pacing. Eventually his shoulders slumped a little and he sank into the chair opposite her.  
"You knew about this." He sounded defeated, and there was something else in his voice that she couldn't identify.  
"Yes," she answered quietly. "Alec asked me-"  
Harry interrupted brusquely. "Did you enjoy seeing me humiliated like that?"  
His voice was tight, angry. Hurt.  
Her head shot up in surprise. "What? No! It's not like that, Harry. Alec checked beforehand whether I'd be willing to do this. That's the only reason I knew about it."  
When she looked into his eyes she could see that he didn't quite believe her.  
"None of this was meant to humiliate you," she stressed. "Why would you think that?"  
"Ruth." He sounded so weary, so dejected that she crumpled the piece of paper in her hand unintentionally.  
"They all know, after Albany, how I feel about you. And that you don't return those feelings. And yet they came up with _this _plan. It is pretty humiliating to have to pretend having an affair with someone who's rejected one's overtures consistently, wouldn't you say?"

Ruth closed her eyes. She had been so caught up in her own confusion about her feelings for Harry, that she hadn't really stopped to consider how things might look from his point of view. They should have told him in private, she realised. After thinking very carefully about her response she ventured, "I can see how it might look from your point of view. But honestly, Harry, this team respects you. Their main concern was putting together the best plan they could."  
She hesitated, then continued doggedly, "If there is any personal agenda involved, I suspect they're trying, in their own misguided way, to play Cupid."  
Harry's gaze lifted from the table to meet hers. "You're really okay with doing this? Given our… personal history?"  
She looked into his lovely eyes steadily. "Yes," she responded, smiling ever so slightly, before getting up and leaving him to ponder all that had been said.

Harry watched her leave, and remained sitting there for a while. He couldn't help the faint flicker of hope that began to blossom in his heart.

_tbc_


	2. Get a room, you two

**Get a room, you two**

Ruth woke early the next morning. She got up and made herself a cup of tea, all the while thinking about the day ahead. And about Harry. She was so tired of going around in circles, trying to overcome the guilt she felt at loving him despite what had happened to George. She'd been angry at herself for coping so well with it for a long time now. Other people, when losing a loved one, struggled to go on, grieved for them for years. She, on the other hand, had been able to get on with her life pretty quickly. What did that say about her, she wondered? She had become increasingly aware that she was no longer sure what she was really feeling guilty about. Was it truly because she had managed to cope so well with losing George and Nico, or was it because she had not loved George with the same intensity that she loved Harry? Or was it survivor's guilt?

All she knew was that the events of the Albany case had made her realise just how much she did love Harry, and perhaps even more importantly, how much he loved her. It also made her think quite hard about herself, and she had come to the realisation that she had always been able to cope better than most with loss. Perhaps it had been the experience of losing her father at such an early age that had made her realise that life went on, whether you wanted it to or not. It was time to let it go. She missed Harry, missed having a special and close relationship with him, and she wanted it back. That was the main reason she'd agreed to this operation; in the hope that it would allow them to spend time together and perhaps overcome all the barriers they had built up between them.

- 0 -

When she stepped onto the Grid, Harry and Tariq were already there. Harry looked up as she entered and faltered slightly. It made Ruth smile. She had dressed carefully that morning, mindful that she had to look like someone a powerful man would lose all reason over. Harry's eyes travelled over her, taking in the business suit that hugged all her curves, the short skirt that ended above the knee, and above all, the teasing amount of cleavage she was showing. His gaze finally lifted to hers and she smiled at him, pleased by his reaction. He smiled back and nodded to his office.  
"Let's go over our legends one more time before we go to the conference."

Once inside the office, Tariq handed them their wallets and other paraphernalia.  
"Ruth?" Harry queried.  
She looked him in the eye. "I'm Ruth Emmerson. Married to an Insurance salesman, no children. I've been your PA for the last five years. I fancied you almost right from the start, seduced by your aura of power, but I truly fell for you once I realised that you were really a softie under that gruff exterior."  
Tariq frowned and scanned the legend file. None of these details were in there.  
Ruth continued, never taking her eyes off Harry. "So when you came onto me at the office Christmas party two years ago, I didn't think twice and we ended up shagging each other on your desk."  
Harry could feel the temperature rise and sweat began to form on his upper lip, but Ruth was apparently not finished yet.  
"We've been having a passionate affair ever since, and the sex is really, really good. Our main problem is to see each other often enough to satisfy our needs."

Tariq nodded approvingly. "Great. Harry?"  
He got no reaction whatsoever. Harry was staring at Ruth with a rather glazed expression. Tariq noticed that he was sweating.  
"Harry?" he prompted again.  
"Hmmm?"  
"Your legend?"  
"Oh, right. Er," his voice cracked slightly as he struggled to get his brain to move on from the things Ruth had said. He took a deep breath and gave Ruth a smouldering look.  
"Harold Palmer is the Director responsible for new defence contracts at UK Defence Electronics. He's married with one grown up son that he's not close to, and experiencing a bit of a mid-life crisis. After thirty years of marriage he is bored with his wife in bed, and began desiring his PA almost as soon as she began working for him. It's those tight skirts that started it, really. After drinking too much and finally having her at that Christmas party, he can't stop thinking about her. Being an electronics expert he is aware that it's impossible to use hotels to have an affair and not be caught, because of CCTV, credit card records and so on. So he rented a flat to keep as a shag pad where they could meet. Unfortunately his son needed a place to stay for the last few months and he was forced to give the flat to him. He hasn't had sex with Ruth for two months now, and he's slowly going crazy."

"Wow," Tariq said admiringly after a long pregnant silence, "you guys have really thought about your legends."  
Ruth tore her eyes away from Harry and cleared her throat.  
"We better get going. We don't want to be late."  
Tariq followed them out of the office and watched them leave as Alec came up.  
"Are they prepared for the operation?"  
"I'll say," muttered Tariq. "I'm beginning to wonder whether we'll need that soundtrack after all."  
Alec laughed and clapped his colleague on the shoulder. "Better get it done, just in case."

- 0 -

As the car drew up before the conference venue, Harry turned to Ruth and smiled softly.  
"Ready?"  
She nodded and smiled back. "Ready."  
"Tariq, comms test," Harry said, checking that the little transmitter under his suit lapel was secure.  
"Loud and clear," Tariq responded.  
"Right." Harry took a deep breath. He was uncharacteristically nervous about this operation, but was well aware that it had nothing to do with the operation itself, and everything with the person he was doing it with. He desperately hoped that he could hang onto his self control for its duration, but if she kept smiling at him like that, he thought gloomily, he had little chance of doing so.  
He nodded at Ruth. "Let's go to work."

Ruth knew that he had deliberately used those words to subtly remind them both why they were here. She got out of the car obediently and tried not to think about his sexy voice saying things like 'having her' and 'sex with Ruth', and the images those words evoked. Drawing her shoulders back, she reminded herself sternly that they were both professionals, and followed him up the steps.

Over the next few hours they played their roles to perfection. They made sure to 'inadvertently' touch each other when handing papers back and forth, or in Harry's case, ogling Ruth's behind in the tight skirt when she walked away from him. When the after-conference drinks started, Fedorov began to circle the UK Defence Electronics delegation watchfully and he didn't miss the way Harold Palmer looked at the woman he'd arrived with. He noticed that both of them wore wedding rings and wondered whether they were married. If not, he may have found his target.

As Fedorov slowly began to work his way through the crowd towards them, Harry murmured quietly to Ruth, "Heads up, he's coming."  
Conveniently, someone chose that moment to bump into him and he took the opportunity to stumble a little and grab hold of Ruth. They both laughed and he leaned in closer to whisper something into her ear, at the same time staring eagerly down her cleavage. He felt her hand caress down his back before it slipped under his jacket and squeezed his bum surreptitiously.

Fedorov watched all this with interest before he reached them and introduced himself.  
"What? Oh." Harry reluctantly dragged his eyes away from Ruth's bosom and offered his hand to the Russian.  
"Harold Palmer, and this is Ruth Emmerson, my PA."  
Fedorov smiled, delighted to find out that these two weren't married. He made small talk with them for a while before excusing himself and moving off again.

As the evening progressed, Ruth noted how Harry created the impression of drinking a lot more than was really the case, and touched her more frequently as time went on. She marvelled at just how good he was in the field, and was at the same time thankful that this made her own task much easier. She noticed Fedorov going through the doors that led to the rest rooms and nudged Harry.  
"We're up."  
They moved swiftly into the corridor outside the Men's room and into position. Harry pinned her to the wall and she put her arms around him.  
"Okay, Tariq," Harry said softly, "say when."  
As Tariq watched the camera positioned in the Men's room in order to warn them when Fedorov was about to leave, the two of them stood in each other's arms, pressed close together. Harry made the mistake of looking into her eyes, and felt his self-control slip a notch. Her breathing was becoming heavier with every second that passed and he could feel her chest pressing against his every time she breathed in. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and before he'd realised what he was doing, his hands were in her hair and he was kissing her fervently.

"Okay, he's about to come out," Tariq reported and looked over to the monitor showing Harry and Ruth, only to find them already engaged in a passionate embrace. Harry was brought back to reality by Tariq's voice in his ear and reluctantly tore his mouth from Ruth's and dropped it to her neck. He slid a hand under her skirt and up the back of her thigh, making her gasp as she turned her head and licked his earlobe.  
"I'm going crazy, Ruth," Harry moaned against her neck. "If I don't see you naked soon I'm going to take you on my desk again." He sucked on her skin hungrily.  
"Oh, Harold, me too, darling. Is your son still in the flat?"  
"Yes, sod him."  
"Can't we just go to a hotel?"  
"You know we can't. I've told you, we'll be caught on CCTV."

Fedorov stood in the door of the Men's room, watching and listening. He saw Palmer lift his head and kiss his PA very indecently, and used that moment to walk past quietly. He looked back at them once, and found Palmer staring at him over the woman's shoulder.

"Okay, he's gone," Harry said and unwillingly stepped back from Ruth. They avoided eye contact as both began to straighten their attire.  
"I just, er, need to…" Harry gestured over his shoulder before disappearing quickly into the Men's room. He definitely needed a few moments away from her to get himself back under control.  
Ruth watched him go, before taking herself off to the Ladies to fix her hair. When she looked at herself in the mirror, her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. She replayed the way he'd kissed her, and smiled slowly at her own reflection.

A bit later Harry sought out Fedorov.  
"Er, Sergei, right?"  
The Russian regarded the man in front of him, who seemed to be a little drunk.  
"That's right, Mr Palmer."  
"Please, call me Harold."  
Sergei nodded in agreement.  
Harry looked around uncomfortably before continuing. "Er, this is a little awkward. About what you saw earlier, you know, with me and Ruth."  
"You mean when you had your hand up her skirt and your tongue down her throat?" the man stated bluntly.  
Harry blanched, then nodded. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that to yourself," he mumbled. "We're both married…"

Fedorov watched the man in front of him squirm with some amusement, before finally taking pity on him. He threw an arm around Harry's shoulders in an expansive gesture.  
"Harold. Friend. We are both men of the world, no? I enjoy a little something on the side myself. Don't give it a second thought."  
Harry looked immensely relieved. "Okay, good then."  
Fedorov made a show of looking around before leaning in and speaking softly.  
"You know, Harold, I couldn't help but overhear that you have a problem in finding somewhere private. I am in a position to help."  
"Really?" Harry managed to infuse his voice with a hint of hope.  
"I own a hotel. There is an underground parking garage, a private elevator and a floor with no CCTV. No-one would know you'd been there together. It's yours if you want it."  
Harry licked his lips, wavering. "How will I pay for it?"  
Sergei looked affronted. "Please. We are friends! There is no charge for friends in need," and he winked at Harry suggestively.  
"That's, uh, that's awfully generous of you." His next words came out in a rush. "When can I have it?"  
Fedorov laughed at the eager expression on the other man's face. "Why, tomorrow night, my friend. You can have the room, and _her_, tomorrow night."

Shortly after that Harry and Ruth left. Once they were back in the car both sank back into the seat and tried to relax. But they were very aware of each other, and conversation was rather stilted. It was with some relief that Ruth opened the door once they drew up in front of her flat.  
"Ruth," Harry reached out and fleetingly touched the back of her hand. "Good work today."  
She smiled, pleased at the praise.  
"Thank you." She added, more softly, "See you tomorrow."  
"Yes. Sleep well."

That evening she took a long, cold shower before going to bed, suspecting that Harry was doing the same. Despite that, her dreams were vivid and detailed, and all about Harry.

_tbc_


	3. To fake or not to fake

**To fake or not to fake, that is the question**

The next morning, Harry caught himself whistling in the shower. And whilst shaving, he refrained from looking his reflection in the eye, knowing what he would see there: hope. He knew that it was foolish to read too much into the events of the previous day, and tried to remind himself that Ruth was playing a part, like he was supposed to be. And failed miserably. He carefully knotted his tie, the gold silk one, and refused to acknowledge that he was wearing it because she had once told him that she liked it. His mobile beeped, letting him know that his driver was there. On the drive into work he watched early morning London go by, trying not to think about the way she had reciprocated when he'd kissed her, once again without success. As he got out in front of Thames House, he had a tingling feeling running through his veins, and he wasn't sure whether it was anticipation or dread at what the day might bring. Perhaps a bit of both, he decided as he walked onto the Grid.

She was already there, busily typing away at her station. Without realising, his pace slowed and his gaze softened as it lingered on her. Her head came up and her eyes met his, and she smiled at him. A genuine smile, he thought and his heart lifted. He was in deep trouble, he realised as he walked into his office. There was no longer any chance of him not crossing the line between the professional and the personal on this operation. In fact, he acknowledged in a moment of brutal honesty; that line was already some distance behind him.

Any further self-reflection on his part was curtailed by the arrival of Ruth and Tariq. The techie laid a small recorder on Harry's desk.  
"Your soundtrack. I gave you three options, varying in length and intensity."  
Harry's eyes met Ruth's incredulously. "_Intensity_?" he queried.  
"I think he means 'passion', varying in the degree of 'passion' displayed," Ruth interjected helpfully, a mischievous glint in her eye.  
"Hells bells," Harry muttered, and Ruth had to work hard to suppress a smile.  
"Yes," Tariq continued, oblivious to the discomfort of his boss. "I suggest you use number three first, short and passionate. That's usually the way it goes when two lovers haven't seen each other for a while, right?"  
"Is it." Harry glared at the recorder as though it had personally offended him.  
"Number one is medium in length and passion, and number two is long and-" Looking up, Tariq found that Harry's glare was now directed at him and he trailed off.  
"Well, you get the idea," he finished lamely before moving towards the door.

Harry waited until Tariq had closed the door behind him before speaking.  
"That boy should not know that much about sex at his age," he grumbled, obviously quite flustered by events.  
Ruth lost the battle against suppressing her smile.  
"I suppose you were totally innocent about these things when you were his age then?"  
Harry's face reddened and he glanced at her, to find her smiling softly at him.  
"Well. Perhaps not totally innocent," he conceded, the corners of his mouth beginning to lift.  
Their eyes held in a long wordless moment. Ruth was enchanted by the adorably bashful expression on Harry's face, and forgot about their troubled history for those few seconds. Harry in turn noticed, perhaps for the first time since her return from Cyprus, an expression of pure joy on her face, and it transformed her. She became to him in that moment luminously beautiful and his heart lurched as he felt himself fall in love with her all over again. He _really_was in trouble. And he didn't care in the least.

"Right." Harry was the first to break eye contact and move them back to the task at hand. He gestured to the file in front of him.  
"Tariq has managed to hack into the records of the company that installed the surveillance equipment in Fedorov's hotel. Our seedy Russian friend lied about there being no CCTV on that floor. There is also a hidden camera in the elevator and in the underground parking garage."  
"Sound?" she asked, a small frown of concentration between her eyebrows.  
"No. Visual only outside the room, audio only inside."  
"So… We'll have to give him a bit of a show until we're in the room," Ruth concluded, trying not to sound too happy about it.  
Harry was relieved. He was going to suggest the same, but he didn't want to seem too eager. Instead he nodded, doing his best to curb his enthusiasm.  
"I'd also like us to discuss Harold's work, erm, after. As pillow talk. Whet Sergei's appetite as to the kind of information Harold can provide."

He handed her a folder with the information he wanted them to include in said pillow talk and Ruth got up to leave. Harry couldn't help his eyes being drawn once again to the short, tight skirt and lingering there for a few seconds. When he looked up she was watching him, her expression unreadable. Embarrassed at being caught, he looked away and mumbled, "Not used to seeing you in such clothes."  
She relented. "And I'm certainly not used to wearing them."  
Her eyes swept over his attire and she thought about commenting on the tie, but her head filled with visions of taking it off him later, the gold silk flowing through her hands smoothly. It was her turn to flush before mumbling, "I'd better get on with this," before flapping the folder at him and hastily departing. She left a bemused man behind, wondering what on earth had been going through her head as she stood there staring at his tie. It was going to be a bloody long day, he decided.

- 0 -

It was dark by the time Harry drove them to Fedorov's hotel. They had seen little of each other since that early morning meeting. Ruth had been busy with research for Alec and the team's operation, whilst Harry had been in meetings for most of the day. She glanced over at him, watching the streetlights intermittently light his face. His expression was closed to her and she wondered what he was thinking, whether he felt the same nervous excitement that she did at the next few hours. Her eyes traced the lines on his face. It was a face with character. Such a _lived in_ face, she thought and was almost overcome by a desire to trace those lines with her fingers. He became aware of her scrutiny and took his eyes from the road momentarily to look at her.  
"All right?" he asked softly, and she smiled.  
"Yes." She turned her eyes down to her lap and his returned to the road.  
"Good."

They drove in companionable silence until Harry turned into the underground parking garage. Mindful of the fact that there was CCTV here, she slid her hand over Harry's shoulder and into his hair, caressing the back of his head. The touch was unexpected and he tensed for a moment before relaxing under her hand. A smile played around his lips and she thought he looked almost happy, and wished that this was more than pretence.

They got out and Harry slid his arm around her as they walked to the private elevator. Once inside, they stood apart for a few seconds before Ruth said jokingly, "Lights, camera, action," and drew him towards her by his tie. She saw a fleeting expression of disappointment on his face at her words, before his eyes closed and he kissed her deeply. Both were so engrossed in the kiss that they didn't notice the elevator had stopped on their floor and the door had opened. Eventually Ruth realised and pulled back, her laugh a rush of air escaping from her.  
"We should…" She gestured over his shoulder.  
"Hmm," was all he could manage before ushering her out of the elevator. She had managed to loosen his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt whilst they'd been kissing and he smiled to himself, pleased and - _hopeful_.

Before he could unlock the door of the room she pulled him towards her again, her hands in his hair as she whispered in his ear, "Seedy Russian coming our way." Harry pressed her to the wall, one hand pulling her lower body tight against him whilst the other began to open her shirt buttons and he dropped his head to kiss her chest. They were interrupted by an amused clearing of the throat behind them. Harry pulled back and looked at her, and for a split second she could read everything that he hoped for in those expressive eyes, before he managed to hide it.  
"Harold," Fedorov greeted as his eyes lingered on Ruth's cleavage, which caused Harry's face to darken with anger.  
"I'm glad you took up my offer. I've asked the staff to put some champagne in your room."  
"That's gracious of you. Thank you," Harry responded, his voice sounding hoarse.  
The Russian glanced between the two obviously very aroused individuals before him and smirked.  
"I'll leave you to it, then. Enjoy your evening."

Harry hustled Ruth inside the room before commenting, "Did you see the way he eyed you up? Bloody cheek!" He lifted his eyebrows at her in a wordless encouragement to take up her role once more.  
"Oh don't fret, darling. You know I only want you," she responded in as sultry a voice as she could muster, biting her lip to stop from laughing.  
Harry gave her an encouraging smile before saying reluctantly, "Shall we have some champagne first?"  
She walked over to the bed before responding, "Come here, let me see," and then laughing. "Hmm, I do like the feel of that. I don't think you can wait any longer…"  
"Bloody hell, Ruth," Harry groaned, "If you're not naked in ten seconds I'm ripping those clothes off you."  
Harry quietly placed the recorder in the centre of the cushions, then made a motion to Ruth to keep talking whilst he selected the recommended Option Three. Ruth thought quickly before saying, "Do hurry up, Harold. Get those pants off and come here, it's been so long."  
He pressed the play button and the soundtrack kicked in.

They stood uncertainly next to the bed, not quite sure what they were supposed to do whilst it played out. Ruth looked around the room, which was luxurious and, for a hotel, surprisingly tastefully decorated. She decidedly avoided looking at the bed, marvelling at the absurd situation they found themselves in. When she turned back to Harry, she found him watching her.  
_Nice_, she mouthed quietly at him, indicating the room.  
He shrugged non-committally, and she knew that like a typical man, he couldn't care less what the place looked like.  
On the bed, the soundtrack grew increasingly louder and passionate. Harry looked pained, and when the woman became rather vocal, his eyes jumped to hers with an expression of amused horror. It was the last straw for Ruth, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to quash the laughter threatening to escape. Realising what was going on, Harry grabbed her arm and dragged her into the bathroom before closing the door quietly behind them.

As soon as it closed, both erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Ruth sat down on the toilet lid while Harry sank down on the rim of the bath, laughing hard.  
"Good God, apparently I'm quite the performer," he gasped before his shoulders started shaking again.  
Ruth stopped laughing long enough to comment, "And I'm a screamer, it seems."  
By the time they regained some control, both were wiping tears from their eyes. Harry looked at her, his eyes dancing.  
"I think I can safely say, Ruth, that this is by far the most bizarre operation I have ever been on."  
He shook his head. "Where on earth did Tariq get that from? A porn film?"  
"Er, yes actually," Ruth managed before the renewed look of horror on Harry's face set her off again.  
"Bloody hell," he muttered, lost for words as he imagined the young techie trolling through numerous porn films to locate the appropriate audio.

The rest of the night progressed without incident. After the soundtrack had finished, they opened the champagne and sat propped against the headboard on the bed, fully clothed, sipping it and engaging in the pillow talk they had agreed upon. Every now and then they would kiss or make teasing comments, solely for the benefit of the microphones of course, or at least that was what they both tried to tell themselves. Harry found the whole thing enchanting. He enjoyed every moment he got to spend with her like this, especially as she seemed so relaxed and almost happy about it. He felt the awfulness of the last year slowly beginning to fall away from his shoulders, and chose to ignore the fear lurking at the back of his mind that this would all fall apart once the operation ended.

He noticed that she had absentmindedly begun to fondle his tie as they talked, and found the action rather intimate. Not for the first time that night, desire stirred in his belly and he decided to bring things to an end before he did something they might both regret later. He stilled her hand on his tie and her eyes flew to his as she became aware of what she'd been doing. He watched as the blush spread across her cheeks, then drew his finger across his throat to indicate they were finishing up. She nodded and slowly pulled her hand from under his, dropping her gaze to the duvet.

They faked a work-related call, after which Harry bitterly bemoaned the fact that there wouldn't be time for a round two. Hopefully that would persuade Fedorov that Harold was ripe for further entrapment. They drove home in silence, each lost in their own somewhat confused thoughts. And for the second night running, each resorted to long, cold showers before going to bed.

_tbc_


	4. Is that a gun in your pocket, or

**Is that a gun in your pocket, or…**

By the time they visited Fedorov's hotel for the third time Harry and Ruth had their routine down pat. After a bit of judicious feeling up in sight of the cameras, they let the soundtrack do its work and decamped to the bathroom where they talked quietly. The half an hour that gave them in each other's company quickly became precious beyond words to both of them.

Ruth realised, with a pang of the heart, that those few minutes were probably the first they'd spent together informally since their only date all those years ago. She was surprised at the level of resentment this awoke in her, not at Harry or herself, but at the universe in general. Why should it be the two of them, out of all the people in the world, that had to overcome so many obstacles, such horrible things to have happened to both of them? Remembering what she'd told Harry after his proposal – that they'd forfeited the chance for a normal life – she wondered at her reasoning. For someone who was not religious, nor believed in karma or fate or any of those things, it seemed a strange view to hold. What had she meant by that statement? That neither of them deserved a normal life, ever? Or perhaps just that they did not deserve it with each other? In the end, it probably came down to the simple fact that she was afraid of what she'd become; numb and dead inside, and that _she _did not deserve it. And yet, she was able to feel so much in this moment, sitting there watching him as he told an amusing anecdote about Scarlet and her cats.

Her focus shifted to Harry. If she herself did not fully understand what she'd meant, how confused must he be by the developments of the last few months? He was perched on the rim of the bath, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped loosely together. His tie was loosened and dangled down, swaying slightly every time he gestured with his hands. Her eyes traced over him, taking in everything from his face to the brightly polished shoes. Just a man, in the end. Made of flesh and bone like everyone else, and with a heart and feelings. A man who, despite being notoriously emotionally reticent, had overcome that reticence on a few occasions to make overtures towards her. She hadn't thought about it before now, but it must have cost a lot for someone who'd become so efficient at locking his feelings away. And even when she'd rejected those overtures, he remained steadfast and yet not pushy in his love. How strange it was, she mused, that both of them seemed better able to make grand gestures to demonstrate their devotion to each other, but couldn't figure out the little details. Perhaps this operation was giving them the opportunity to do that. Perhaps this time, the timing would be right.

As they left the room later, Fedorov approached them.  
"Harold, Ruth. Did you enjoy your evening?"  
"Very much so," Harry said with the smile of a satisfied man, his eyes lingering on Ruth. He looked ready to drag her straight back into the room for another round.  
"Will the room be available over the weekend?" he asked, shifting his attention to the Russian.  
Fedorov regarded them thoughtfully, then seemed to make a decision.  
"Actually, I wanted to invite you both to France this weekend. I have a house in Provence and a private jet standing ready."  
He looked between the two of them.  
"What do you say? Do you want to join me and my mistress for a, I think you call it 'dirty weekend'?"

Harry felt suddenly apprehensive, but before he could think of a reason they couldn't go, Ruth grabbed his arm excitedly.  
"Oh, that sounds wonderful, doesn't it Harold?"  
"Well, yes. But how will you explain to your husband-"  
She interrupted him, waving an impatient hand in the air. "Don't worry about that. I'm due for a visit to my sister's."  
When Harry still looked dubious, she caressed a hand down his chest, and then lower whilst giving him a brazen look. "Oh come on, Harry darling, I want to have _this_ to myself for a whole weekend."  
Harry swallowed hard, before nodding at Fedorov and saying in a strangled voice, "All right, we'll come Friday evening and stay till Sunday afternoon."  
Fedorov clapped his hands together. "Good, good. I'll send you the details of where the plane will be."

They got into the elevator and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He folded his hands in front of him carefully. Ruth noticed, and mindful of the camera, said with a smile, "What's wrong?"  
"Er," he faltered, then pulled her to him so that she blocked his body from the camera. He leaned in until he could whisper in her ear.  
"Sorry. They might wonder why you, er, barely touching me after the session we supposedly had, would have such an effect."  
There was no way to hide his embarrassment, and fearing he might have embarrassed her as well, he kissed her cheek fleetingly.  
"I'm sorry, Ruth."  
Her heart melted. She was strangely touched that he was being such a gentleman about this, especially after everything they'd pretended to do with each other over the last week.  
"It's fine, Harry, really." Her hand reached up to cup his cheek. "It's natural. Now I know not to touch you like that too often," she added with a smile.  
He smiled back wanly, hoping she couldn't see his disappointment at the thought she wouldn't be repeating her actions anytime soon.

- 0 -

_Next day_

They were gathered in the meeting room, and Harry had just finished his report on their operation. He concluded, "I think Fedorov will use this weekend to make his sting."  
Alec looked worried. "The problem is we won't be able to provide you with back-up in France. You'll be on your own."  
"At least there will be two of us," Ruth commented.  
When she looked around the table, she was met by a ring of dubious expressions.  
"What?"  
"Geez, Evershed," Dimitri responded, "you don't exactly have the best record in the field."  
Harry could see that she felt somewhat insulted by Dimitri's comment, but secretly agreed with him. Still, he stepped in gallantly.  
"I'm quite happy to have Ruth as my back-up," he said before smiling at her.  
"I bet," Alec mumbled as everyone else struggled to keep their faces straight.  
It took Harry a moment to work out how his statement might be interpreted, but once he did, he rolled his eyes.  
"Shall we get on?" he said in as stern a tone as he could muster.

Beth was the first to recover.  
"We'll need the company credit card."  
Harry eyed her warily. "What for?"  
"We need to get Ruth a few outfits. If she's going on a dirty weekend, she needs to look good."  
Harry frowned. "But she always looks lovely," he said, genuinely puzzled.  
Ruth glowed at the compliment, and knew that she probably would have kissed him right then if the others had not been there.  
Beth also smiled at her boss' total unawareness of how he'd unintentionally said a most wonderful thing.  
"Of course she does, but she'll definitely need some naughty underwear." Beth stopped herself just in time before asking Harry whether he knew if Ruth owned such things.

Harry's ears began to turn red at the thought of Ruth in naughty underwear.  
"Right then," he mumbled before getting up to leave.  
Beth couldn't resist. "You could probably also do with a make-over, Harry. I'm not sure your usual stuffed shirt look is the best way to go-"  
He swung round, affronted. "_Stuffed shirt_?!"  
"-and you could also do with some naughty underwear," she continued, unperturbed. "There are some quite raunchy silk things on the market for men these days-"  
"I'M NOT BLOODY WEARING RAUNCHY UNDERWEAR!" Harry shouted very loudly.  
Beth clamped her mouth shut and he saw her eyes widen as she looked over his shoulder.  
"Hello, Harry," a familiar, rather amused voice said behind him.  
Harry closed his eyes. "Home Secretary," he responded wearily before turning around and ushering the smirking politician to his office.

Much later, as Harry was showing Towers out, the two women returned laden with shopping bags. He eyed the bags apprehensively.  
"Bloody hell, I didn't say you could max out the card."  
"Don't worry. We got you a little something too," Beth teased.  
Harry lifted an annoyed eyebrow and she prudently decided that it was time to get back to work. His face softened as he turned to Ruth.  
"A word in my office please?"  
She nodded, and dumped the bags on her desk before following him into his sanctuary. He closed the door behind her before settling behind his desk.

He was silent so long that she began to fidget, looking around for something to occupy her restless fingers with. Harry noticed, and sighed.  
"About the weekend, Ruth. I don't think it's a good idea."  
She looked at him, and the way he avoided making eye contact unsettled her. Did he not want to spend time with her? Had she misread the signals?  
"Okay. Any particular reason?" she asked neutrally.  
He sighed again. "I'm not sure you've thought through the implications properly," he offered tentatively.  
Ruth tilted her head at him in a wordless query.  
Harry cast around for the most diplomatic way to voice his concerns.  
"We don't know what surveillance equipment Fedorov has at this house."  
"I know, but Tariq has a gadget that we can use to pinpoint the bugs, so we'll know once we get there."  
She couldn't understand why Harry was so uncomfortable with this conversation, or where he was going with it.  
He, in turn, had hoped that she would catch on without him having to get too explicit, but fortune was not with him that day, apparently. So he spelt it out.  
"We are going to have to share a room. And a bed. All weekend. Not just for a couple of hours of pretend sex. If there is a camera in that room, we'll have to- Well. You know what."

She stared at him, shocked into silence. He was right, she hadn't thought this through properly. Harry could see what she was thinking, could read the hint of panic in her eyes.  
"It's all right," he assured, "I'll think of something. We can say you fell ill, but I felt I needed a break so will go anyway, or something."  
"No!" She surprised them both with her adamant response. "No," she repeated in a calmer tone. "You can't go by yourself, Harry. It's too dangerous. It'll be fine. I mean, if we have to- you know, then we have to."  
Harry was not convinced. "You're sure?"  
"Yes. We're grown-ups. We both understand that this job sometimes demand unusual things, right?"  
"I guess so." He sounded sad. "But I don't want- I mean I hoped that we-" He trailed off. "Never mind," he muttered and looked away.

But she could read him like a book in that moment. He still hoped that they would get together, and he didn't want their first intimacy to be for the benefit of an operation.  
"We can always fake the sex for the camera as well," she suggested. "It can't see under the sheet, can it?"  
Harry smiled. "No, it can't."  
He was not sure at all that he would be able to fake sex with Ruth without losing control, but what choice did he have? She was still watching him, so he nodded towards her desk.  
"Successful shopping trip, I take it?" he unsubtly changed the subject.  
Ruth took the comment as a sign that he was worried about the amount of money she might have spent and hastened to assure him.  
"It's just a few items. It wasn't that much money at all."  
His lips twitched in amusement. "It's okay, Ruth," then added in a slightly lower register, "I look forward to seeing you in them."  
He was flirting with her, and she was enjoying it a lot more than she probably should.  
"Good," she responded softly. At the door she turned. "By the way, Beth doesn't know, but I actually did get you something. I look forward to seeing you wearing it as well."  
She laughed as his smile faltered, and she left a rather worried man behind.

That evening, as she tried on her new purchases, she felt the excitement build inside her. Suddenly she was really looking forward to the weekend, and was aware that it could prove to be a watershed event for her relationship with Harry. She fervently hoped that this time the universe would not conspire against them. Just this once. Surely that wasn't too much to ask?

_tbc_


	5. My, what big, erm, lips you have

**My, what big, erm, lips you have**

On Friday morning, Harry stepped through the doors with holdall in hand. Beth happened to be passing and looked at the small holdall speculatively.  
"Harry-"  
Her boss held up an authoritative hand. "I am not discussing what underwear I packed with you. In fact, if you ever mention the topic to me again, you will find yourself back in Colombia so fast your head will spin. Are we clear?"  
She retreated. "Yes. I was merely going to compliment you on being an efficient traveller. No woman could ever last a weekend with the contents of such a small bag."  
He eyed her suspiciously, not convinced in the least, before proceeding to his office.

As he passed Ruth's desk, he turned his head to greet her, but the words died on his lips when he saw the magazines scattered all over her worktop. As far as he could see, they were all women's magazines or gossip rags. In fact, she was currently perusing a copy of _Hello!_ with a headline screaming that some androgynous starlet he'd never heard of was caught scrumping a second rate footballer.  
"Ruth, what are you doing?" He'd never in a million years clocked her as being interested in the latest social gossip.  
She looked up to find him staring at the magazine in her hand distastefully.  
"Research," she responded before turning a page.  
Harry lifted an eyebrow inviting her to explain further.  
"I'm supposed to be a PA, so I thought I'd better be able to hold a discussion about more basic things than ancient literature, politics or terrorist threats. Besides, who knows what kind of woman Mr Fedorov will be bringing along for the weekend?"  
He'd also wondered about that, but decided that now was not the time to voice his suspicion that the woman was likely to be a stripper or high class prostitute.  
"Good thinking. Are you packed and ready?"  
She nodded at a small suitcase by her feet in response, and Harry was pleasantly surprised at its modest nature.  
He smiled, and murmured confidentially, "Don't show it to Beth. She'll probably accuse you of betraying your female brethren."  
She frowned in confusion at the comment as he disappeared into his office.

Truth be told, Harry was worried about the weekend. Not for the obvious reasons, although the extent of self-control he might be called on to display was of great concern. But as he sat in his office and watched Ruth slog through the magazines, his greatest worry was about their safety. Alec was right, they'd have no back-up, and as much as he admired Ruth's skills, she wouldn't be much use if things turned violent. And he could hardly pack a gun to a dirty weekend. That'd be hard to explain to their host, should he find out. _Oh that? It's for a little role-play we like to do…_ He shook his head at the absurd thought. What they needed was a safehouse nearby, where someone could leave them a few emergency supplies. With a sigh Harry picked up the phone and called one of his contacts in the DGSE. He hated working with the French, but he had no option. He was not going to endanger Ruth any more than was necessary.

- 0 -

It was seven o'clock when they pulled up to the private airstrip just outside London. Harry switched off the engine and they sat motionless, staring at the jet waiting on the runway.  
"Still time to change your mind," he said, not sure which answer he hoped for most. If she didn't go, she'd be safe here in London, but if she did go, he'd get to spend a whole glorious weekend in her company. When he looked at her, she shook her head wordlessly, and truth be told he never really expected a different answer. Ruth was one of the bravest people he knew, and she would never shirk her responsibility.  
"Okay. But you need to remember that I'm in charge, Ruth. I will determine when our safety has been compromised. So if I say we go, or you go, you follow that order without argument. Our lives may depend upon it."  
He looked extremely serious, and she could see his deep seated fear for her safety in his eyes, even though he tried hard to hide it.  
"I won't forget," she reassured him, "you're in charge."  
Harry held her eyes for a moment, assuring himself that she meant it, before getting out of the car and collecting their bags.

They were alone on the flight, as Fedorov and his mistress had apparently gone to France the night before. Ruth was glad of the respite. She sat quietly next to Harry, the warmth of his arm pressed against hers a reassuring reminder of his presence. His concern over their safety, and more specifically hers, had shaken her somewhat. But she knew unequivocally that he was the person she trusted more than any other, and she would willingly put her life in his hands. He had proven more than once, after all, just how far he was prepared to go to keep her safe. No, they would be all right, Harry would see to that.

That left her with thoughts of sharing a room and a bed with him for a whole weekend. How on earth was she going to do that without doing or saying something stupid? She couldn't afford to lose focus, but to be in his alluring presence for 24 hours a day was going to make that extremely difficult. How strange, she thought, that despite knowing him for so long, she should still find him so irresistible. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head back against the headrest, and she could study his features unobserved. There was nothing outstandingly attractive about that face, except that it was _his_. Coupled with everything she knew about him, the good and the bad, it morphed into a package she had no resistance against. He was one of those exceptionally rare men whose character made you look closer, and notice that a face that looked ordinary at first glance, was in fact much more than that. He had a gorgeous mouth, she thought, and the most beautiful eyes, and- The list was endless. And now, finally, she didn't want to pretend anymore that this wasn't true. In that moment she was happy, sitting quietly next to Harry in a rare instance of relaxation. So she closed her eyes and leaned into him, enjoying the feeling for the rest of the flight.

- 0 -

It was dark by the time they reached Fedorov's house. What they could see of it as the taxi's headlights swept over it, looked authentically rustic and beautiful. As they got out of the car, Fedorov opened the front door and a rectangle of light spilled out onto the gravel drive. A woman appeared behind him, blonde, thin, with enormous breasts. They both boggled at the sight and Ruth heard Harry mutter, "Dear God," despairingly under his breath, and had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.  
"Ah, you made it," Sergei greeted.  
He ushered them inside before making the introductions.  
"This is Anastassia."  
She held out a long, slender hand. "Call me Tasha," she said with a bright smile, in an irritatingly high-pitched voice.

They shook hands with her, Harry swiftly pulling his away when he felt her caressing the back of his hand with her thumb. Ruth noticed the flicker of discomfort that crossed his face and wove her arm through his possessively. In response he slid his arm around her and pulled her snug against him, leaving the blonde under no illusions as to which woman in the room he preferred. The corners of her mouth turned down in displeasure and she folded her arms, pushing up her breasts even more. Harry was gazing into Ruth's eyes and didn't notice.  
"I'll show you your room and leave you to settle in, then we can have dinner," Fedorov announced before leading them up the stairs.

As soon as the door closed and they were alone, Harry put his finger to his lips and got Tariq's gadget out of his shaving bag. While Ruth unpacked and enthused about the lovely house, the large room and the huge bed, he thoroughly swept the entire room and en suite for bugs.  
"Clear," he finally announced and both heaved a sigh of relief.  
They sat down next to each other on the edge of the bed, leaving a respectable gap between them.  
"Wow," Ruth said, "our hostess is quite a woman."  
"You think so?" Harry sounded decidedly grumpy.  
"She has impressive assets," Ruth replied with a straight face.  
"Hmpf," Harry huffed, unimpressed. "There is nothing natural about that woman." He counted off on his fingers. "She's not blonde, that's not the nose she was born with, and she looks like a guppy from too much botox. To cap it all, those fake breasts are so stiff that a man is likely to lose an eye if he should miscalculate in the heat of passion."

Ruth's attempts not to laugh became futile and it escaped her in an inelegant snort. She found him unspeakably adorable when he went off on these little rants of his, and the image his last words evoked pushed her over the edge. Harry fell quiet as a smile grew on his face. He could never stop himself from lightening up when she laughed like that; it was like music to his ears.  
"Come on, we'd better get out there." He stood and turned to the door.  
"Wait." Ruth stopped him by placing both hands on his chest. "Lose the jacket and tie," she advised, and before she'd thought about what she was doing she'd slid his jacket off his shoulders and was reaching for his tie.

Her brain caught up with her actions and she froze, her eyes leaping to his. They glittered back at her in the muted light, and she became painfully aware of everything: that they were in Provence, in a lovely old house, alone in a beautiful room with a balcony and a huge and comfortable bed. And that her hands were resting on his chest, so that she could feel the warmth of his skin through the shirt, and that the rhythm of his breathing had become deeper and faster. Harry's hands came up and folded gently around her wrists, before sliding up and covering hers. Wordlessly he moved her hands to his tie, encouraging her to finish what she'd started, before sliding back down her arms and lightly resting there. She couldn't tear her gaze from his as her hands completed their task, slowly undoing the knot before pulling the copper-brown silk from his collar and dropping it on the bed. His thumbs were drawing patterns on her forearms as her hands went back and loosened his first three buttons, before sliding inside the collar and around his neck.  
"Ruth," Harry breathed, when a loud knock shattered the moment. Both took a reluctant step back.  
"Dinner's ready," Tasha called through the door, and Harry rolled his eyes at Ruth as if to say, _duty calls_.  
She nodded, and their eyes held for a moment longer before they turned to the door in unison.

Dinner was a strange affair. The food was delicious, and Sergei took great pride in boasting about the French chef he employed. Ruth was saddled with making conversation with Tasha as Fedorov ignored the women and tried to draw Harry out about his job. Reading all those magazines seemed to have helped as Ruth chatted away with the other woman, and she smiled warmly at Harry when he gave her an apologetic look. However, Tasha was not to be denied and soon she had monopolised the whole conversation, blabbing on about celebrities she knew, none of whom Harry had ever heard of, and how she had been at what suspiciously sounded like an orgy with some of Roman Abramovich's footballers.

Harry tried to get the conversation back to some sort of intelligent level by addressing Sergei.  
"What do you think of Putin's latest move to-"  
"Ooh!" Tasha interrupted. "Putin… is he that new Russian defender Chelsea signed?"  
Harry stared at her incredulously, and opened his mouth. Ruth's hand clamped onto his thigh and squeezed hard, and he shut his mouth again reluctantly.  
"I could do with some more wine, couldn't you darling?" she smiled sweetly at Harry.  
"Yes, yes I could," he said, thinking that all the wine in the world could not lessen the torture of this evening.

Fedorov and Tasha left to see to it. Ruth took the opportunity to give Harry a warning look.  
"This is intolerable," he complained in response.  
"It's not that bad."  
"_Not that bad_? Ruth! The woman is an ignorant simpleton-"  
"Shhh, they're coming," she hissed, and pulled him in for a kiss, trying to distract him from his displeasure at the situation. Harry was more than happy to be distracted, and kissed her back enthusiastically until they were interrupted by Tasha plonking the bottle on the table with undue force.

Harry saw their chance to escape. "Sergei, would you mind awfully if we, er, retired for the night?" He smiled suggestively. "You did invite us over for a dirty weekend, after all."  
Sergei laughed. "Yes I did. Of course, we'll see you in the morning."  
Harry practically jumped up from the table, then blatantly took the bottle of wine and tucked it under his arm.  
"Goodnight then. Tasha," he nodded in her general direction before shepherding Ruth out of the room with his hand on her backside.

_tbc_


	6. Can't see the wood for the trees

**Can't see the wood for the trees**

As soon as they got back to their room Harry once again delved into his shaving bag and produced a tiny device. Ruth looked on with interest.  
"Do you have any shaving stuff in there at all?" she asked, amused, and Harry smiled.  
"This device projects a beam, and when that beam is broken by someone walking past, it sends a warning to my mobile. I'm going to install it a few steps down the corridor, so we'll know if anyone tries to sneak up to the door."  
He slipped out of the room and Ruth sat down on the bed, next to his open holdall. Unable to resist, she pulled it open wider and peered inside. A blue shirt was neatly folded on top, obscuring everything else.  
She sighed in disappointment, and turned to find him standing in the open door, observing her.  
"All done," he said lightly before closing the door behind him.

They settled into the two easy chairs and Harry poured them each a glass of wine. He watched her, enjoying the way her lips enveloped the glass when she sipped some wine.  
"I'm sorry to have disappointed you," he stated out of the blue.  
Ruth looked lost. "What do you mean?"  
He nodded meaningfully towards the bed and his holdall. "Apparently my wardrobe is a source of disappointment."  
She could see the merriment in his eyes; clearly he was enjoying putting her on the spot. Before she could recover from her embarrassment, he continued.  
"Perhaps your present will remedy that." His tone was now half-teasing, half-flirting.  
"Present?" Ruth seemed unable to manage more than short sentences.  
"You said you got me something as well, when you bought all that stuff."  
She was finally on the same page, and smiled secretively. "So I did."  
When she didn't say or do anything, Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Well?"  
"Well what?"  
"What did you buy me?"  
Ruth was enjoying herself. He seemed very eager to get his present, but it was so wonderful to sit there and banter with him that she didn't want it to end.  
"I'm not telling."  
"Oh." He thought about that. "Can I see what you bought yourself, then?"

Her eyes flew to his, shocked, and he realised that perhaps she really did buy some naughty underwear. His mouth went dry at the thought.  
"Er, perhaps you'd better not," he mumbled, and couldn't stop his gaze from straying to the bed, which he would soon be sharing with her. He took a large gulp of wine and changed the topic hastily.  
"I managed to drop a few hints during dinner that I would have to do some work this weekend, so Fedorov is aware that Harold's laptop is here. I think, tomorrow, we should go out for the day, give him a chance to access it."  
She nodded. "All right. I'd love to see some of the countryside. Besides, him getting the information that way is probably the best scenario, right?"  
"Yes." Harry sounded decisive. "If Harold doesn't know Fedorov got the information through him, we won't run the risk of the Russians deciding that either Harold or his PA should be silenced."

It was a sobering thought, and Ruth couldn't help but hope fervently that Fedorov would take the bait. She stifled a yawn.  
"I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. That is if you don't need the bathroom for a while?"  
Harry shook his head. "Go ahead. Just, er, I suspect Fedorov or that abominable woman will want to bring the dirty weekenders breakfast in bed. So can you, er…" He trailed off sheepishly.  
"Not sleep in a nun's habit?" Ruth guessed with a small smile.  
"Don't worry. I bought something nice to sleep in on that shopping trip."  
Harry swallowed hard. "Great," he said with false enthusiasm, and resigned himself to a night of little rest.

Whilst Ruth bathed, Harry took his glass of wine onto the balcony and stood staring out over the moonlit landscape. He could hear Ruth humming, and smiled to himself. For a few moments he stood there, pretending that it was all real. That they were in Provence, on holiday, enjoying each other's company. He could have sworn, earlier that evening when she'd taken off his tie, that he could see desire in her eyes, possibly even love.

But.

Was that really the case, or was that what he wished to see? He sighed, suddenly feeling frustrated and weary of the whole thing. It was not like him to lose his grip on reality like this, but then, she had always had that effect on him. Bringing out aspects of his character that he thought he'd lost or possibly never had. Like the fierce protectiveness he felt towards her; the certain knowledge that he had the capacity to kill with his bare hands, and without remorse, anyone who harmed her. He'd thought, after the disaster of his marriage to Jane that he would never want that again, and yet, with Ruth, he couldn't stop dreaming about it, couldn't stop hoping that one day she would say yes. He wondered, suddenly, if she thought him pathetic for holding onto her, and those dreams, when she'd made it clear that she didn't want the same. No, he thought, that wasn't what she'd said. She'd said that she _couldn't _marry him, not that she didn't want to. Perhaps he was clutching at straws, but surely that was not the same thing?

His musings were interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door.  
"All yours," she called, and he turned around to see her clad in a dressing gown.  
"Thanks," he responded before collecting his holdall and moving past her.  
As the bathroom door closed behind him, she wondered at the strained smile he'd given her as he walked past.

By the time he came back out, she was under the covers, dozing lightly. He was clad in boxers and a white t-shirt, which he stripped off before slipping into bed beside her.  
"Goodnight Harry," she said drowsily before drifting off again.  
"Goodnight Ruth," he responded softly before settling down to stare at the darkened ceiling, lost in thought. It took a long time for him to sink into a restless sleep.

Ruth was woken by constant movement next to her. She found herself lying on her side, facing Harry, who was twisting and turning and mumbling inaudibly in his sleep. There was a decent expanse of open bed between them. Harry turned away from her, his bare back exposed as his movements made the covers fall to his waist. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and placed it gently on his back. His skin was damp with sweat under her touch, and she rubbed her hand in soothing circles. He stiffened, then relaxed, before sighing deeply and settling down again. Ruth kept on tracing patterns across his skin until his breathing deepened into a peaceful rhythm. She wondered what he'd been dreaming about. He certainly had seen enough to provide for a lifetime of nightmares, she thought, feeling a surge of compassion. That was something she understood all too well; her own dreams were often dark and disturbing. What a pair they'd make if they ever got together, she pondered – probably taking turns soothing each other's nightmares. As she too fell asleep again, her hand remained on his back, warm and soothing.

- 0 -

Harry's phone beeped, and he was instantly awake. Someone was coming down the corridor. He opened his eyes and looked into Ruth's face, not far away from his own. It seemed they had both migrated more towards the middle of the bed during the night, and were curled on their sides, facing each other. Close, but not touching. His eyes lingered on her beautiful face until loud knocking on the door roused her and she opened her eyes. When she registered Harry's face so close to hers, he saw a moment of surprise before her expression softened and relaxed. They were torn from their quiet contemplation of each other by Tasha barging unceremoniously through the door.

"Morning," she trilled at them in a sing-song voice. Well, more at Harry than at her, Ruth couldn't help but notice.  
"I brought you some breakfast."  
Tasha was dressed in extremely skimpy pyjamas, and as she placed their breakfast on the table she made sure to lean forward to give them a good view of her cleavage. Once again, Ruth surmised that this was for Harry's benefit and most definitely not for hers. They could see _everything_. Unfortunately for Tasha, Harry missed the whole show as Ruth had sat up in bed, exposing her upper body. Although her nightwear wasn't terribly revealing, it was silky and form-fitting enough to captivate him and he couldn't help staring. Thus when Ruth glanced at him to see his reaction to Tasha's little exhibition, she instead found his eyes firmly on _her _chest, and just for a moment an expression of naked desire flitted over his features. She turned her head away, for some reason not wanting him to know that she had seen. Tasha had apparently also noticed Harry's disinterest and stormed from the room in a huff.

Once they were both safely covered in their dressing gowns, they sat down to a leisurely breakfast, chatting idly. Harry seemed off-kilter; not quite himself. He made every effort to hide it, but Ruth knew him too well. She noticed how he didn't quite meet her eye, and how he toyed with his food disconsolately. She had barely finished her tea before he got up and disappeared into the bathroom to dress and shave. Ruth went out onto the balcony, and was enchanted by the scenery before her. The purple of blooming lavender were broken only by the occasional vivid green and yellow of vineyards. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and she wished more than anything that they weren't there on an operation. What she wouldn't give, in that moment, to stand there with Harry for all the right reasons. Together, as a couple. As two people who loved each other.

The bathroom door opened and Harry emerged, clad in tan slacks and blue shirt. He rolled up the sleeves to just under his elbows as he addressed her.  
"I'm going for a walk. Sergei said they have horses. I'd like to see them."  
She nodded wordlessly and watched him walk out the door, her heart screaming at her to run after him, to drag him back, and to tell him what she was feeling. She didn't move. Only when he'd been gone for long minutes, did she slowly move inside to dress for the day, her heart heavy in her chest. When he hadn't returned an hour later, she went looking for him.

- 0 -

She found him leaning on the wooden railing around the horse enclosure, staring pensively at the four magnificent animals grazing inside. He was absentmindedly twisting Harold's wedding ring around his finger, and she was reminded how similar this setting was to the one at the church, when he had proposed. She swallowed hard before approaching him.  
"Hey."  
His eyes met hers briefly before turning back to the horses, and she was concerned at the wariness in them. And behind that, hurt and a little anger.  
"Hi," he returned non-committally.  
She stood with him in silence for a few minutes before working up the nerve to ask.  
"Harry, what's wrong? You've been aloof all morning."  
He contemplated fobbing her off with the usual 'I'm fine', but when he looked at her the earnest expression on her face made him change his mind. He told her the truth.  
"I fear I have lost sight of what is real and what is pretence on this operation."  
He scratched at the wooden post with a thumbnail. "You know my feelings for you, so I guess it didn't take much for me to cross the line, but the problem is that I've started to convince myself that you have done the same. And when that turns out not to be true once we're back in the real world, I'm not sure I'll be able to cope."  
His words were delivered to the post and she could see how much that bit of honesty had cost him in the tense set of his shoulders, the hands clasped tightly together. She wondered when she had become able to read him so well, and was surprised that the knowledge no longer scared her. In fact it pleased her very much. Turning to him, she responded softly.  
"Harry. It _is _true."

_tbc_


	7. I see your plan, and raise you one

**I see your plan, and raise you one**

Harry stared at her, unable to believe that he'd heard correctly. But it was written all over her face; love. For him. Love for _him_. Their eyes held, and she saw the tears well up in his, saw his breathing become deeper and faster as he struggled to control his emotions. He turned towards her, and lifted a hand halfway to her face before dropping it again. Somehow, this moment was bigger than he'd anticipated, and mere physical contact could not ever do it justice. He stood, lost in his emotions and the love in her eyes, wanting to say something, to do something, but not knowing what the right words or actions were.

She rescued him, giving him a wobbly smile and reaching out to lay her hand against his cheek.  
"Don't, you'll set me off," she said gently, stroking his skin with her thumb.  
Harry closed his eyes and laid his hand over hers, holding it to his face. He turned his head to kiss her palm, a long, long kiss, before she felt him smile. He looked back at her and this time his eyes sparkled with devotion. As he was about to say something, one of the horses wandered up and nudged Harry's arm, hoping for an apple. The unexpected contact startled him, and they both laughed, the gravity of the moment broken and brought back to manageable levels.

Harry rubbed the horse's neck, but held onto Ruth's hand with his other. Still not able to find the right words, he lifted her hand and pressed it against his heart, before covering it with both of his. Hoping that she would understand what he was trying to say with the simple gesture. He looked entreatingly at her, and she understood. She nodded, and laid her other hand on top of his. They stood like that, enjoying the moment, enjoying each other.

Finally Ruth cleared her throat. "What do we do now?"  
Harry squeezed her hand before letting go. "We get back to work. We finish this operation. And when it's done, perhaps you'd like to have dinner with me?"  
She put her hand back over his heart. "I'd love to."  
He watched her for another few seconds, before nodding and slipping an arm around her, turning towards the house.  
"Come on then, Mrs Emmerson. Let's get the show on the road."

They walked slowly back to the house, where Harry retreated to their room and pretended to work for a while. Ruth was claimed by Sergei, who said he'd show her around the property and steered her away with a hand in the small of her back. Harry watched them go, a feeling of unease settling over him. He'd seen the lusty looks the other man had been giving Ruth, and he wondered what Fedorov's intentions were. These worries inspired him to 'work' quickly, anxious not to leave Ruth alone with the man for too long.

He found them on the veranda outside, where Sergei was standing much too close to Ruth for Harry's liking whilst elaborating about his plans to establish a vineyard on the property. When he approached, Ruth turned to him, relief evident in her eyes.  
"Harold, darling! Are you done?"  
Harry nodded and smiled, but the expression in his eyes was cold when they turned to Sergei.  
"Thank you for entertaining Ruth, Sergei. You've been a truly wonderful host, but I think we'll get out of your hair for the rest of the day."  
He took Ruth's hand. "I thought we'd drive around a bit, see some of the countryside. That is if we could impose on you for a car?" The last bit was addressed to Sergei, who readily agreed.

Half an hour later they were on their way. Ruth took a deep breath as soon as they turned onto the main road and sped away from the house. She was finding the atmosphere increasingly stifling, and the attention Fedorov had lavished on her that morning was most unwelcome. She didn't like the look in his eyes when they travelled over her, which they frequently did. Perhaps she should tell Harry, but she feared that he would overreact and compromise the mission. She hadn't missed the cold expression when he'd looked at Fedorov earlier, and she knew that he'd also noticed the way Fedorov's gaze lingered on her. It was up to her to make sure that things didn't get out of hand, she decided, and resolved to stay out of the Russian's way until the operation was over. For now she would put these thoughts out of her mind, and concentrate on how wonderful it was to spend a day in Harry's company, with nothing more strenuous to do than sightseeing.

They hadn't gone far when Harry turned into another smallholding, stopping in front of a small, charming house screened from the surrounding countryside by trees. He sat for a moment, surveying the house, before turning to Ruth.  
"This is our safehouse," he explained. "If anything should happen and we get separated, you come here. The key is under a loose stepping stone in the second step. There are emergency contact numbers hidden in the sudoku puzzle in the paper lying on the kitchen table. It'll put you in contact with an old DGSE contact of mine, who'll provide any help we might need. All right?"  
Ruth nodded, surprised at the extent of planning Harry had put into this. She shifted uneasily.  
"Harry… Why are you so worried about this weekend? What is your main concern?"

He reached out and took her hand. "I don't know. Perhaps I'm being over-protective. I didn't like the way he's been looking at you, to be honest. Who knows how far he might try to take things? If he tries anything with you-"  
He didn't finish the sentence, but the ominous note in his voice left her in no doubt what Harry would do in those circumstances. She squeezed his hand.  
"I appreciate your commitment to protecting me, I really do. Just promise me you'll keep a level head, Harry. Please. You can't wrap me in cotton wool all the time. You have to trust me to take care of myself out in the field. Don't compromise the operation unnecessarily."  
Harry looked down at their joined hands. "I'll try. I will. But I won't let him hurt you, Ruth. Besides, I'm sure Harold wouldn't let anything happen to his beloved PA," he smiled wryly. "So protecting you won't mean breaking cover."

Ruth smiled at that. "I guess not. Just remember that Harold won't necessarily know how to kill a man with a fork," she teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.  
Harry laughed. "Noted. Give me a moment to check the back of the house, then we can be on our way."  
He disappeared round the corner. After making sure that she hadn't followed, he lifted the plant out of the third flowerpot from the right, and retrieved a small object wrapped in water resistant cloth from the bottom. He put the plant back, and unwrapped a small calibre gun, which he slipped into the pocket of his jacket before joining Ruth again.  
As he started the car, he hesitated and turned to her.  
"Do you think we can, for today I mean, that we can leave the legends aside?"  
"I'd love that," she responded, reaching out to rest her hand lightly on his thigh. "I've always dreamed of wandering around Provence with you."  
"Well then." For once he allowed everything he was feeling to show on his face, before driving off. When she left her hand on his leg he couldn't help the most ridiculously happy smile from spreading across his face. A glance at her face showed her sporting a matching expression, and he knew that they were both determined to make the most of this interlude.

- 0 -

It was early evening by the time they reluctantly returned to Fedorov's house. They had wandered through the surrounding villages hand in hand, and Harry had happily allowed Ruth to drag him into any shop that took her fancy. A visit to a dusty bookshop selling old books had led to heated debate as Harry tried to talk Ruth down from buying armfuls of French books, arguing sensibly that it would be hard to explain to their Russian benefactor. She had relented reluctantly and in the end had bought only two, which was now hidden under their other touristy purchases, mostly bought to keep up the pretence. Harry had made a show of rolling his eyes as Ruth bought just about everything possible made with lavender, from soap, to bubble bath, to cookies, but was secretly hoping that they could use some of those products together. He was able to rather vividly imagine Ruth covered in lavender scented foam, her skin slick under his touch-  
"Harry?" Ruth repeated, frowning at him as he failed to hear her the first time.  
"Hmmm?"  
"We're here. You can switch off the car now."  
"Oh. Right."  
As she followed him into the house, she wondered where his thoughts had been that had caused such a blissful expression to settle over his features.

They went straight to their room, which Harry scanned once again to make sure Fedorov had not planted any bugs in their absence. Next he powered up the laptop and called up the hidden programme Tariq had loaded to check whether the Russian had taken the bait. He had. All the files pertaining to Harold's work at UK Defence Electronics had been copied. Harry and Ruth smiled triumphantly at each other. Now all that remained was for them to extract themselves from Fedorov's orbit for the operation to be concluded successfully.  
"By tomorrow this time we'll be done, Ruth," Harry promised. He resisted the urge to kiss her, somehow wanting the next time he did so to be away from this place. When she didn't answer immediately, he studied her, worried that something was wrong. She was deep in thought, staring off into the distance and clearly not paying attention to anything he was saying. Harry knew that look; it was the one she got when she was thinking through a complicated problem. So he waited patiently, keeping quiet. His patience was soon rewarded.

"Harry, I have a plan, but you're not going to like it."  
"A plan for what exactly?" he asked warily.  
"To get us out of here by tonight." She looked at him eagerly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? I know I would."  
He didn't like the sound of this; he could also think of a way to get them out of there, but there was no way he would risk that just for an early exit.  
"Yes, I would, but Ruth-"  
She hastened on, trying to explain her plan before he had a chance to shoot her down. "We know Sergei is interested in Ruth. If I can get him to make a move on her-"  
"No. Absolutely not." Harry didn't raise his voice, he didn't need to. He had rarely sounded more determined than he did then.  
Ruth sighed, exasperated. "It's the perfect solution. You catch him trying it on with me, have a fall-out, and we can leave immediately. It also gets us out of future entanglements with Fedorov quite neatly."  
"I said no!" Harry began pacing, and this time he did raise his voice.  
"Why not?" Ruth asked calmly.  
"Because it's bloody dangerous!"  
"I'll wear a wire," Ruth continued stubbornly. "You can listen in and break things up before it gets out of hand."  
"For God's sake, Ruth. Do you have any idea how many things can go wrong with this plan? Is it really worth risking all that to get out of here one day earlier?"

"Yes. It is." Her answer brought him up short and he turned to her. Her voice rose as she continued. "I'm tired of this charade, Harry. I want to have tonight with you, _Harry_, rather than with Harold. I want to be away from this house, to speak and act on all these feelings that have built up since the start of the operation. I want to spend time with you before we go back to London and real life."  
By the time she finished speaking, she was standing right in front of him, and they stared at each other, the battle of wills continuing. Harry could feel himself weaken, and tried one last time to make her understand.  
"I'm afraid for you," he said softly, his hand coming to rest against her neck and his thumb stroking her cheek.  
"Fedorov is- there's a hardness behind those eyes. He might get violent before I can stop it, and I'll never forgive myself if that happens."  
But Ruth was determined. "I want to do it. It'll be all right. You and I, we make a good team. We can do this. Please, Harry."  
He looked into those beautiful blue eyes, and he was powerless to deny her. He knew that if he'd been here with any other officer, he would have suggested this course of action himself. And he knew that she knew that, too. The fact that she didn't throw that in his face went a long way to deciding him.  
"Fine. But I'll decide when to interfere. I make that call, do you understand?" There was a note of fear underlying the urgency in his voice.  
"Of course. You're in charge," Ruth reassured without hesitation.  
Harry turned away, feeling sick to his stomach with worry.

_tbc_


	8. Harold vs the Russian

**Harold vs the Russian**

They discussed how to implement Ruth's plan in minute detail. Harry insisted upon it. When Ruth, after some time, said a little testily that she knew what to do, he curtly reminded her that he was in charge and took her over everything again. And she let him, because she could see his fear for her safety in his eyes. Finally he was satisfied, and after a last comms test Ruth was ready to go. Harry was trying his best to hide his concern and gave her a confident nod as he opened the door for her. She stopped before him, hesitated, then rested her hand against his chest lightly.  
"I'll see you soon," she murmured, suddenly nervous about what she was about to do.  
"Yes." He'd heard the slight waver in her voice, and spoke again as she went out the door.  
"Remember, you're a born spook, Ruth."  
The door closed softly behind her, and Harry began pacing the room furiously.

Ruth found Sergei and Tasha in the sitting room. She'd loosened an extra button on her shirt after leaving the room, hoping to get the Russian's attention by showing a little more skin than normal. She plopped down into a chair close to him, and sighed. Tasha barely gave her a glance.  
"Where is Harold?" she asked.  
"He's working again." Ruth managed to sound put out.  
Fedorov shook his head. "He brings a beautiful woman on a dirty weekend, and then he works!"  
He leered at Ruth's chest. "Englishmen have no romance in their souls, eh Ruth? Maybe you should look elsewhere."  
"Maybe." Ruth added disingenuously, "I hear Frenchmen are a good bet."  
Fedorov snorted. "Please. You need a real man. Like a Russian."  
Ruth laughed. "Ah, I see. Do you happen to have any friends available then?"  
The Russian gave her a predatory smile. "Tasha, go do your nails," he ordered dismissively.  
She looked between him and Ruth, before getting up and reluctantly stomping out.

The hollow feeling in Harry's stomach worsened when he heard Fedorov send the other woman away. The man was definitely interested in Ruth. Why had he ever agreed to this ridiculous plan, he fretted. If something were to happen to her… He couldn't bear thinking about it. Fedorov was now informing Ruth in lurid detail why Russian men were the best. Harry could hear his voice growing louder as he obviously moved closer to Ruth. In order to calm himself, Harry pulled the gun out of his pocket and checked that it was loaded and working properly. Satisfied, he shoved it into his waistband at the back and dropped his shirt over it. Moments later there was a knock at the door, and before he could answer, Tasha opened it and slipped inside.

Harry was not amused, to put it mildly. He tried to keep half his attention on the voices in his ear whilst getting rid of the woman.  
"Tasha, if you don't mind, I'm working." He gestured to the laptop on the table behind him.  
She ignored him, and before he could react, she was unbuttoning her shirt.  
Harry hastily averted his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out!"  
Once again she ignored him. "Why don't we have a little fun? I know you want these." Proudly displaying her bare chest.  
At the same time Harry could hear Ruth's voice in his ear acquire a strident note, and he knew she was no longer comfortable with the situation. He had to get rid of Tasha as fast as possible.  
"Listen to me very carefully," he said in a commanding tone as he stepped towards her, "I do not want those." He began to button her shirt for her as he continued.  
"And I am not interested in you or any other woman. Only Ruth. Now for God's sake, _bugger off_!" The last few words were accompanied by a fierce glare.  
Tasha finally got the message and stepped back. "You sad bastard. While you're here working, Sergei is probably shagging her downstairs by now. He doesn't take no for an answer, you know."  
As if to illustrate her point, Harry could hear Ruth protesting vehemently: "What are you doing? No! Get _off_ me." The note of distress in her voice was unmistakable.  
_Oh God, no_.  
He shoved Tasha out of the way and ran.

Sergei had caught Ruth unawares. One minute he was still talking, the next he had grabbed her by the arm and yanked her onto the sofa. He pinned her there with his body weight, and Ruth struggled frantically. She couldn't shift him, he was too heavy, so she resorted to scratching at his face, cursing the fact that she had very short nails. He ripped her shirt open as she tried to stab her finger into his eye, and he slapped her across the face for the impertinence.  
_Where was Harry_?  
She couldn't fight him off much longer. Desperately she tried to knee him in the groin as he grabbed roughly at her exposed breast, and she felt tears gathering. What had she got herself into?

And then, suddenly Harry was there, grabbing Fedorov by the collar and dragging him off her, his face white with anger and fear. The Russian swung round and viciously punched Harry in the left eye, sending him sprawling over the coffee table. Fedorov started after him but was brought up short when Ruth shot out a leg and tripped him up. It gave Harry the chance to recover and pounce on his opponent. He winded the younger man with a swift punch to the short ribs, before shattering his nose with a hard jab. Fedorov howled and clutched his nose. Harry got up, breathing hard, and couldn't resist aiming a kick into his ribs for good measure.

"I'm going to report you to the police for attempted rape, you bloody Neanderthal," he hissed menacingly.  
Ruth grabbed his arm and dragged him back. "No Harold, please. I'm all right. Let's just leave. Let's just call a taxi and leave."  
Harry looked at her, and saw the vivid mark across her cheek where Fedorov had slapped her. She could literally see the red mist descend as rage took hold of him. He jerked his arm out of her grasp and turned on Fedorov, who had got onto all fours. Harry kicked him in the nuts and hit him in the face again, and was reaching for the gun before Ruth's sharp voice broke through to him.  
"Harry, _enough_!"  
She was clutching her torn shirt closed in front of her, her face a study in anxiety and fear. Fear, he realised, that he would kill the Russian. It brought him back to himself. He looked at the man writhing on the floor with contempt.  
"We're leaving. If I ever see you or hear from you again, I'll go to the police."  
Without waiting for a response, he put an arm around Ruth and guided her back to their room and closed the door behind them.

After settling her on the bed, he draped his jacket around her shoulders gently. He didn't speak, but his face was a picture of barely controlled fury, distress and self-recrimination. Ruth opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head, and she understood.  
_Let's get away from this cursed house first of all_.  
He called a taxi and moved around the room packing up. Ruth watched him silently. She was in a state of shock; it had been a close call, and her cheek burned where she'd been slapped. All she wanted was for Harry to hold her, but he was doing what had to be done to get them away from there as soon as possible.

Within minutes, headlights swept up the drive and Harry gathered their bags.  
"Let's go," he said, his voice harsh with the strain.  
She followed him down mutely, huddling in his jacket, which smelt so comfortingly of him.  
He didn't spare a glance in the direction of the two people gathered in the sitting room, Tasha bending over Sergei, trying to stem the bloodflow from his nose.  
Outside, Ruth stopped and stared at the waiting car.  
"It's not a taxi," she noted with concern.  
Harry took her arm and propelled her toward it.  
"DGSE," he explained shortly before opening the door and bundling her in. He got in next to her and nodded to the man behind the wheel, who sped off in a spray of gravel.

Harry realised for the first time that his hands were shaking. His eye was throbbing and he knew he'd have a spectacular black eye tomorrow. But that was the least of his worries. How much damage had the Russian done to Ruth before he'd intervened? They'd only barely got together, and already he'd let her down. Fear gripped him, and he reached out a tentative hand to cover both of hers that she was wringing in her lap. Ruth immediately enfolded his hand in hers, then lay her head on his shoulder, seeking out his warmth, and he buried his face in her hair, letting the relief flow through him.

The DGSE officer took them straight to the safehouse. Whilst they took their bags inside, he had a brief conversation on his mobile.  
"You are booked on a flight out of Marseille tomorrow afternoon," he informed them when they returned to the kitchen. "I'll pick you up here at noon. We'll watch the Russian's house tonight, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid like try to report what happened."  
He looked between the two spooks. "This house is fully stocked. You rest and don't worry about anything."  
Harry walked him out and shook his hand warmly, thanking him for the assistance.

Upon his return he found Ruth rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen. She had already found a bottle of Scotch, and it stood on the counter alongside two glasses.  
"Thank God," Harry murmured. He'd rarely needed a drink more than he did right then. He poured them both a stiff measure, before handing one to Ruth.  
"Sit down for a moment," he commanded softly and led her into the sitting room and onto the sofa. He sat down next to her.  
"Ruth, did he hurt you? Did he-" he swallowed, unable to say it.  
"No. Nothing happened. He grabbed my breast, but that's as far as it got. I'm all right." She was still rattled, but the thought that it could have been much worse was a source of comfort to her.  
"I doubt that. You were almost violated! Of course you're not all right," he said in anguish. "I am so, so sorry."  
Ruth frowned at him. "For what?"  
"Oh, take your pick," he said wearily. "For agreeing to this plan in the first place, for my inability to keep the personal out of it, for not getting there soon enough, for losing control and nearly killing him and scaring you." Then he added, with regret, "For not being the man you deserve."

Ruth was lost for words. She wasn't sure which aspect to address first.  
"That's not true. It's not your fault," she said urgently. He shook his head and didn't respond.  
She sat forward and took his hands in hers. "Look, Harry. I know that since you proposed I've been all over the place, and I've said some things that even I'm not sure what I meant. But I know, now, that I was angry with myself, I blamed myself. _I_ didn't deserve all the things I said we didn't deserve. It's the impact of doing this job, living in this world, and you being part of that world. I wasn't able to make a distinction between you and it. But now I can. I made my own decisions, and I have to live with that. It's not your fault. None of it."  
Harry was listening carefully, aware that they were no longer talking only about the evening's events. His response, when it came, was slow and measured.  
"But when all is said and done, Ruth, once we get back to London, I'll still be the man that can sacrifice people for the greater good. The man that didn't save George, and was willing to sacrifice the boy. I'll always be that man; the man with blood on his hands."

She was silent for a long time, before sighing softly. "And I'll always be the woman that stood next to you for many of those decisions, who admired you for being able to make them. For saving many more than you've sacrificed. That hasn't changed. I may have forgotten that for a while, but it's still true."

Her gaze stayed on his face earnestly. "We are, all of us, shaped by everything we've ever done. If I thought that you weren't affected by the choices you've made, I wouldn't be here. As long as I can understand why you do what you do, I can forgive."  
Harry's eyes were soft as they rested on her. "You can forgive me, but not yourself? Why is that?"  
"Harry," she shook her head and looked away.  
He turned her face back to his. "From my extensive, painful experience, we don't forgive ourselves because the guilt we carry is a sign of our humanity. A sign that we haven't turned into psychopaths quite yet. We fear if we let go of the guilt, we will let go of our humanity. That is a good thing. But we have to learn to live with it, to not wallow in it, even though we never forget what we have done."  
He stroked her cheek. "That's how I cope with it. I can help you cope with yours, if you'll let me. We can help each other."  
Ruth took a shaky breath, and nodded. "Yes. We help each other."  
Their eyes held in a solemn, wordless promise.

His gaze never leaving hers, Harry leaned forward and tenderly kissed the angry red mark on her cheek. He kissed every inch of it lovingly, before his lips slowly moved towards hers, finding them at last. Blindly she stuck out an arm and put her glass down on the table before winding her arms around his neck and concentrating on the kiss. It was different from the way Harold used to kiss her; this one was slightly hesitant, and filled with wonder. This was Harry finally kissing the woman he'd loved for so long, and she was bowled over by it. She never wanted it to stop.

_tbc_


	9. One good cliche deserves another

**One good cliché deserves another**

Only after they'd explored each other thoroughly, did Harry pull back. His face was serious and a hint of uncertainty drifted in those brown eyes she loved so much.  
"Seeing that we're done with the operation, will you have dinner with me?"  
Ruth was struggling to follow the sudden shift in conversation; she was still mourning the loss of his lips against hers.  
"What, tonight?"  
"Yes."  
Although she was tempted to say yes, she knew that she wasn't really in any state to go out, so responded regretfully, "I'd love to, but I don't fancy going out now. Not after what happened." She touched the red mark on her cheek and smiled apologetically. "Can I take a rain check?"  
Harry planted a kiss on her lips before getting up. "Who said anything about going out? Stay there," he ordered when she made to follow him, before disappearing into the kitchen.

As Ruth leaned back into the sofa, slowly sipping her drink, she could hear him bang around, muttering to himself. The domesticity of it made her smile and as the warmth of the Scotch began to spread through her, she felt the shock of the last few hours slowly trickling away.  
Harry reappeared with plates laden with bread, cheese, olives, Parma ham and a jar of pâté. Ruth's face lit up.  
"Oh, this looks wonderful," she exclaimed, as Harry went back for a bottle of chilled white wine and some glasses.  
When he settled next to her she pulled him to her and kissed him again. "I love it, thank you."  
Harry beamed, obviously proud of himself for coming up with the idea. They tucked in with relish, chatting and laughing with each other. He lamented that it was a pity that such a wonderful country should be the property of the French, which led Ruth to argue that it was largely due to the French people that it was such a wonderful country in the first place. They bickered about it good-naturedly, and Ruth thought it the best night she'd had in years.

Afterwards, she helped him clear the plates to the kitchen. Harry offered to do the dishes, still mindful of the ordeal she'd been through earlier, but she shook her head decisively.  
"Leave it for tomorrow," she suggested, before taking his hand. Without hesitation she led him to the bedroom, where she kissed him deeply and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving him in no doubt as to what she wanted. He didn't need a second invitation and undressed her almost reverently, pausing a moment to admire the sexy underwear she had bought for the operation, before stripping those off too and taking her to bed.

- 0 -

Harry woke first. Early morning sunlight was streaming into the room, turning Ruth's skin luminescent as it fell across her shoulder and cheek. She was sleeping peacefully in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He tightened his arms around her, wishing he could stay in this moment forever, and still finding it hard to believe that they'd finally reached this point. Unable to help himself, he slowly pushed the duvet down to expose more of her to his adoring gaze. _God, but she was beautiful_, he thought and swallowed against the tide of sentiment threatening to overwhelm him. Caught up in his task of softly running his hands over the skin he'd exposed, he didn't notice that her eyes had opened.  
"Comparing my assets to Tasha's?" Her teasing voice pulled him out of his trance and he smiled sheepishly.  
"No, reminding myself what a beautiful woman looks like."  
The sheepish smile turned roguish when her eyes darkened at his response, and he bent his head down to allow his lips to follow the path of his hands. He murmured his next words against her skin, enjoying the way it caused goose pimples to rise in their wake.  
"And you are a beguilingly beautiful woman, Ruth. I unequivocally prefer your assets to the hideous monstrosities of that woman."  
His lips enveloped one of said assets as if to prove his point, and they didn't speak again for some time.

- 0 -

Much later, Harry was woken by Ruth kissing him.  
"Mmm, that's nice," he commented when she pulled away.  
"Coffee," she said in return and pointed to the steaming mug on the bedside table.  
"Oh, thank you." He sat up and took a grateful sip.  
She was watching him over the rim of her own mug with a small smile.  
"What?" he asked, feeling somewhat exposed under her scrutiny, which was laughable in light of the things they'd done the previous night and that morning.  
"That's quite a black eye you have there," she responded. "And coupled with the stubble, it gives you a rather, erm, dangerous look."  
She contemplated him some more, then declared, "I like it."  
Harry eyed her warily. "Dear God, please tell me you don't have some strange fetish about dangerous men," he pleaded, rubbing a hand over his stubble self-consciously.

She avoided eye contact and Harry choked on his coffee.  
"Ruth?!" he queried incredulously, harbouring visions of Ruth regularly getting them into situations where he could be beaten up to feed her fantasies.  
She couldn't quash the smile threatening to escape and her dimples were soon out in full force.  
"You're so easy," she laughed, and Harry heaved a sigh of relief before draining his coffee and reaching for her.  
"Only for you, Miss Evershed, only for you," he smiled before kissing her dimples.

They cuddled a while longer before reluctantly beginning preparations to leave. After a shared shower, Ruth left the bathroom to Harry whilst she dried her hair at the dressing table. She could see him in the mirror through the open door as he stood before the basin, shaving, and couldn't tear her eyes away. Mesmerised, she watched the way his biceps flexed as he dragged the razor across his skin in even, practised strokes. It brought back memories of before she'd left; when one of her fantasies about him used to entail her watching him shave after they'd spent the night together. She got up and went to him, putting her arms around him before kissing the smooth skin between his shoulder blades, then running her hands over his chest and curling them around the muscles she had admired moments ago.  
"Promise me," she pleaded, "that we won't mess this up."  
She felt him take a deep breath and he met her eyes in the mirror.  
"I promise. As much as it is within my power to do so, I give you my word."  
"Good," she kissed the same spot again. "I promise too."

She wandered back into the room and Harry followed after rinsing his face. He looked pensive.  
"Although we're not off to a great start, Ruth."  
"What do you mean?" she asked with a note of alarm.  
"You're holding out on me," he replied with a straight face, but there was a twinkle in his eye which allayed her fears.  
"Am I now? In what way?" Deciding to play along.  
"Well, I remember something about a present. For me. I have yet to get it," he said mournfully.  
"Huh. I distinctly recall you waxing lyrical about my new underwear last night, and calling it the best present any man could want."  
Harry pondered that. "Okay, I admit to expressing those sentiments in the heat of the moment. But I was hoping for something that I could keep with me, a reminder of my beloved, as it were, when you're not at my side."  
Ruth laughed and shook her head. "Heavens, Harry. You don't merely have a silver tongue, yours is golden. You could probably sweet talk the Queen into giving you the Crown jewels."

She turned to rummage in her bag and came out with a package. Harry noted that she suddenly seemed hesitant as she came over to him with it.  
"It was the old cliché, I'm afraid; I saw it and thought of you."  
He took it from her outstretched hand. "I'm touched."  
It was a long sleeved cashmere shirt in midnight blue, so soft to the touch that it was almost decadent. Harry immediately slipped it on, before pulling Ruth to him and kissing her thoroughly.  
"I love it," he said softly, and they were both aware that he was talking about more than the shirt.  
She ran her hands appreciatively over the soft material, feeling his solidity underneath.  
"And I love it on you. I'm going to have trouble keeping my hands off you when you wear it," she said, demonstrating that fact by continuing to caress his chest and shoulders admiringly.  
"Then I shall wear it often," Harry murmured with a smirk, clearly enjoying the attention.

His comment made her smile, but she soon sobered.  
"But not to work," she clarified, her hands stilling on his chest.  
Once again Harry was aware that they were no longer talking about the shirt; that this was about broader issues. Apparently she didn't want their relationship in the open, and he couldn't help the apprehension settling over him.  
"No, not to work," he acquiesced. "At least not in the immediate future." There was a challenge in his eyes as he looked at her steadily. He would not sneak around with her forever, that look said, and she sighed before leaning into him.  
"Just for a little while," she asked, "I want to enjoy us for just a little while before everything and everyone else intrudes."  
He looked into those pleading eyes, and even though he wanted to argue, he couldn't say no to her when she looked at him like that.  
"Fine. But I won't waste any more time we can have together to prevent people from finding out. We've wasted enough, don't you think?"  
There was no arguing with that. "Yes. We've wasted enough time," Ruth responded, winding her arms around him.  
Harry hugged her back, before they gathered their things and went downstairs to meet the DGSE man.

Ruth stood for a moment outside the house, surrounded by the beautiful Provencal countryside, thinking back on everything that had happened over the last year. Harry turned to look at her, and the love evident in his eyes took her breath away. It reminded her of the passion that she now knew lurked under that controlled exterior, and the thought made her heart beat faster. Yes, they would not waste any more time, and if that meant the whole world found out about their relationship tomorrow, she was determined not to mind. She stepped forward and planted a kiss on his lips, surprising him. When she pulled back, they grinned at each other happily.

They would take it one day at a time, together, and make the best of whatever their complicated lives could throw at them. Harry bent down to pick up their bags. When he straightened up, he couldn't suppress the mischievous look stealing over his face.  
"You know, Ruth, whatever happens in future, at least we'll-"  
"Oh no, don't say it," she groaned.  
"Hey, one well-worn cliché deserves another," he reminded her playfully, and she gave in with a smile.  
"Go on then."  
Schooling his expression into one of serious contemplation, he looked her in the eye.  
"Whatever happens in future, at least we'll always have Provence," he intoned solemnly.  
Ruth's laughter drifted over the landscape as the car pulled away, taking them back to their normal lives.  
With one important difference.

They now had each other.

_Fin_


End file.
